Hunter
by potatos-ate-my-soul
Summary: Story of a vampyric assassin in the warhammer fantasy world. rated for violence
1. Chapter 1

**Hunter**

He could smell their blood now. He was close. Momentarily he reflected on the fate which would have him silently scaling a three story building in the dead of night. Nothing but his fingernails and luck to keep him from falling to the hard cobbles below. Senses attuned by years of practice, he could feel the coarseness of the bricks beneath his fingers, hear the many noises of the night in a city the size of Nuln. Most importantly he could hear the hum of voices through the wall meaning that his targets were present.

He was directly below the window now. He took a moment to ready himself and to check his weapons were in place. Then, using the prodigious strength of his kind, forced his legs out, over his head and bending them to send his heavily booted feet crashing through the window followed momentarily by the rest of him.

Before the glass had hit the ground he analysed the situation, five men, heads just beginning to turn from their deep discussion. Three of them fighting men, two with swords and one with an axe. The axeman died first, a knife thrown as the assassin landed taking him in the throat. He drew his sword and located another knife in time to meet the charge of the two swordsmen. The first bringing his sword down in a powerful overhead swing, the other lagging slightly behind. The assassin, with inhuman speed, darted aside flicking his sword in and out of the mans chest. His victim stood motionless for a moment, then blood frothing from his lips he fell face down. The second was more experienced, keeping his sword between himself and his foe. In a flurry of blows the assassin attacked cutting through the mans defences in a whirling storm of steel, almost delicately decapitating him in a fountain of blood.

Of the two remaining men one was chanting the final refrains of a spell. He indicated to the knives on the table and waved his hand toward the assassin. The three knives on the table, propelled by the wizards will, flew point first at the assassin. In a spray of sparks the assassin deflected one with his sword. Barely managed to twist aside avoiding the second, but the third sank point first into his gut, stopping as it sank to the hilt. An odd smile spread across the assassins face, "Its not that easy my friend." And plucking the knife out threw it in a deadly arc toward its owner, its flight stopping point first in his eye. The wizard sank soundlessly to the floor.

The final man seeing his chance, dashed, not toward the assassin but in the opposite direction. Hurling himself towards the door. He almost made it, but was stopped by the heavy wooden bar, which had utterly failed in its purpose to protect its owners. Before the bar was even half way removed a vice like grip fell upon the mans shoulder and span him around.

"Please don't kill me!" he squealed "I'll tell you everything, I have money, please don't kill me!"

"I'm afraid there's only one thing I really want from you" replied the calm voice of the assassin.

"Please, I'll give you anything!" cried the fifth man.

"How very generous of you." The assassin smiled, revealing long, needle sharp canine teeth.

"Vampire!" choked the man before screaming as the assassin lunged towards the mans neck, biting down on the artery and drinking down the blood that gushed from the mans neck. The mans shrieks quickly lost strength and as he collapsed lifeless to the floor, the assassin turned to leave.

this is my first story so any feedback would be gr8, also should i continue this or leave it as a 1 shot??


	2. Chapter 2

---Fristly thanks L Choopacabra, without u this would have nvr bin written, i wudnt want u 2 cry :) ive decided 2 continue this and just see where it goes.

---Also, 4got disclaimer, i dont own anythin, gamesworkshop is king. . .etc. and without further ado---

Owen was brooding, as he always did after making a kill. . .

After leaving the rather bloody mess he had made in the room behind, he made his way toward the riverside docks. It was the best place to go for an alcoholic drink if you didn't want anyone asking too many questions about why you had blood on your clothes.

He marched through the dark and twisting streets that only a man who had lived several lifetimes in the city could possibly navigate effectively. Lucky for me, he thought wryly to himself. His thoughts being interrupted as he turned a sharp corner and almost ran over an imperial watchman.

"Oi! Watch where the hell your going!" the rather startled man exclaimed. Damn! Was the first thought in Owen's head, this is the last thing I need. He momentarily contemplated killing the man but dismissed it. A dead watchman would bring attention and that was to be avoided at all costs by vampires like himself. It was hard enough living in the Empire, but it beat living in the wilderness, never knowing where your next meal was coming from.

"My apologies good sir, I should have minded where I was going a little more" the calm voice of nobility coming from Owen's thin pale lips. He sniggered internally, when you live as long as he had you picked up an accent for all occasions. The watchman looked him over, trying to gauge if the man in front of him was nobility and thus not worth making a scene over. Doing things like that had a way of coming back to haunt you when you messed with nobles. He saw a pale skinned man with dark hair, close to black. A narrow face and eyes that would make you nervous if you stared into them, as they seemed a little too dark brown, the whites a little too blood shot. Looking over his clothes he saw a pair of tough black boots, loose black trousers with an ornate gold buckle and a snowy white shirt under a dark green jacket. The watchman was unsure, possibly a noble, more likely a merchant. About to tell the man to be more careful next time and leave it at that, he noticed that the shirt had a slash in it, just visible partially covered by the jacket.

"Are you alright, it looks like you've been stabbed!" Owen nonchalantly examined the slash and the already closing cut beneath. He had a moments mourning for another perfectly good shirt ruined, he did seem to get through a lot. . .

"Perfectly fine, don't worry. Excuse me I must be going"

"Come on, I'll take you to the temple of Shallya, they can stitch that up for you, care to tell me how you got it?" The watchman ordered firmly. He was only doing his job of course, but still, he was starting to piss Owen off.

"Actually I don't care to, and I'm afraid I must apologize" Not giving the man the chance for a clichéd 'why?' he lashed out. The poor watchman never even saw what hit him. Sweeping his leg out low, Owen knocked him off balance, then jabbed a quick punch into the man's temple, knocking him unconscious, before sliding round to catch him as he fell and lowering him to the ground. All of this in about two seconds. "Sweet dreams. . ."

Leaving the man where he fell Owen headed on his way down to the docks. Reaching the waterfront, he took one breath of the putrid smell emanating from the Reik and decided not to bother breathing until he found somewhere a little less pungent. Walking the waterfront dressed as he was would earn you a mugging in a dark alley usually, but after the first few to try it were found with their necks snapped word quickly got around to leave him alone.

He strolled his way toward one of the seedier looking inns. The name of which, 'the hogs head' seemed quite innocent until you saw the sign above the door depicting a decapitated pigs head with all the details included. It was Owens favourite place to go in the evenings when he had little to do. Opening the door he was hit by a wave of noise, he smiled; it was always fun to watch the drunken revelry even if he himself could not become drunk no matter how much alcohol he drank. He made his way over to his usual corner; he paid the innkeeper well to keep the table for one free for his use. He sat down with his back to the corner so that he could view the rest of the room. The place was packed tonight, mostly river boat men, but with the occasional mercenary thrown in. Of course, there were the local drunkards thrown in but they were of little interest, slumped over the bar miserably drinking away. He sneered in disgust . . . what a waste of life, especially when they had as short a life as they did.

After a few minutes one of the bar girls came over, He knew her well enough, her name was Rebecca, she had even donated a quick snack a time or too. Surprising though it may be, some where willing to give up a pint or two of their own blood, of course it helped that the bite of a vampire inspired ecstasy in the victim when done carefully. Owen gave her a quick grin as she approached, she returned it a little shyly, showing just how young she really was compared to him. He could barely remember the time when he had been as shy as that. . .

Clearing his head of such thoughts Owen reminded himself why he was here, not just a quiet drink tonight, he was here to meet someone. Just then Rebecca reached the table and asked him what he wanted to drink. Now what was the code again? Oh yes,

"I'll have the special please; just make sure it's thoroughly cooked, last time it looked like it was barely even dead." He quirked a smile at her as he said this, sharing a wink at the joke.

"Of course sir, come this way and you can choose your meat." This was another part of it of course, so he followed her into the back rooms, past the kitchen and down a rickety set of steps into the basement. She led me up to the door and he thanked her as she headed back up to the main rooms.

---If any1 has sumthing they rlly want 2 see included then u'll just have to write a review and tell me. Muhahaha more reviews 4 me :)


	3. Chapter 3

Right, 3rd installment, soz theres no action in this 1 but there is some creepy stuff so i hope u forgive me. I own nuthin gamesworkshop is lord of the universe etc. . .exept owen, he is mine ppl

Opening the door Owen was met by the stench of rotting flesh and damp earth. Owen Sighed, the man Owen was coming to meet never was one for spring cleaning . . . mores the pity. Resigning himself to the smell, Owen stepped into the room. It was badly lit with only a few sickly candles in each corner. There was a desk against one wall and another door leading to an adjoining room on the other side. The desk was cluttered with scrolls, tablets and bits of human bone. In the centre of the room there was a large table with 2 sets of straps at both ends designed for holding wrists and ankles. It was currently unoccupied.

"Victor! Victor! Are you here?" called Owen, he could smell that he was of course, but it was polite to at least announce that he was here.

"Yes, yes, come on back, I'm nearly finished." Replied a muffled voice from the other room.

Owen crossed to the door and entered. Upon entering he found a ruddy faced man in his early thirties, with dirty ginger hair, bent over the body of an old man. The old man was quite obviously dead; he was starting to decay for one thing. "Ahh Owen your back, good to see you again, I assume everything went well, I'm afraid as you can see I'm a little busy at the moment" The voice was warm and hearty, and seemed very out of place considering the setting. As he said this he was carefully replacing the corpse's eye and it finally popped into place with a sickening slurp.

"It's good to see you too my friend, there were no complications of course, and no one saw me enter or leave so you should be in the clear. I assume this means that we are even."

"Of course, of course, if you ever need someone to help exorcise vengeful spirits again, I'm your man." Victor wasn't a bad sort as far as necromancers went. Of course he was still relatively new at it; Owen had seen how necromancy often twisted those who used it into crazed, paranoid, lunatics. Not a pleasant fate, which is why Owen had always been wary of magic, too many unknown side effects. But for now at least, Victor was a jovial chap, one of the few Owen could really call friend in this city.

Owen was still a little hazy as to why he had been asked to kill those five men.

"Victor, what did you have against those fellows anyway?"

"Oh, well I was a little careless, they were witch hunters you see, found out about my chosen vocation. They just don't understand what I am trying to achieve here . . . anyway, they were planning to kill me I believe so they had to die. Just lucky I happened to have a vampire who owed me a favour eh? Thanks again." Victor was still working away at the corpse as he said this, stitching a finger back on. Owen had previous experience of witch hunters . . . damn zealots.

"Ahh, I sympathise my friend, yes I had a run in with some of their kind, about 30 years ago it must be now. . .quite persistent they were." Owen reminisced fondly about the grisly end that those particular hunters had come to. "Anyway, it's getting on towards dawn and I need to get home. I'll see you soon ok victor, I would like to see how your pet project goes." The pet project Owen was referring to was his rather ambitious plans to resurrect a warhorse, apparently a very challenging feat. Owen was moving towards the door when Victor called after him.

"See you soon Owen, try not to get a sun tan between now and when we next meet." Owen scowled and stomped out, muttering under his breath about 'kids today' and 'no respect for their elders'.

Owen climbed back up the stairs and swept back through the common room of the inn towards the door. Giving a quick wave to Rebecca as he passed. Leaving the warm brightness of the inn, Owen returned to the dark and shadowy streets in which he was comfortable. As a vampire he had an instinctual knowledge of when sunrise was due and Owen knew he would have to hurry to make it back home in time to avoid being immolated by the sun . . . not a pleasant thought.

a review would be nice, its only a couple of minutes of ure time and you could make 1 poor sufferin wannabe author happy : D


	4. Chapter 4

sorry for the delay in posting this, I had to think about the direction of this story, but i have a plan now and progress can continue.

disclaimer: i dont own warhammer or anything in it, gamesworkshop does

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Chapter 4

Owen approached the cemetery at a trot. Dawn was nearly here and he had to get indoors. The cast iron gates gleamed in the pre dawn light as he hurried toward them. Stone gargoyles stood on either side, manic grins seeming to mock him, gods he hated those things. He had to go past them every day for the last thirty years, they were creepy. Owen slipped through the gates, closing them behind him. Then he marched purposefully forward, his boots crunching on the gravel path.

Approaching the doors to one of the more ornate of the mausoleums Owen paused, and sniffed the air. There was something, almost familiar, but somehow wrong. Probably just some idiot come to pay his respects to his dear old grandmother Owen thought. He snorted to clear his nose then hurried on to the doors. He removed an ornate iron key from his pocket. Fitting it into an equally ornate lock Owen swept through the door and slammed it behind him, moments before the leading edge of the sun peeked into view on the horizon. He sighed in obvious relief now that there was a thick door between him and direct sunlight. He chuckled quietly to himself, he never understood why he did this, challenge himself to stay out that little bit longer than was safe. Maybe he wanted to finally die, or maybe the fear of true death made him feel that little bit closer to being alive. Whatever, thought Owen, I get to keep on living for another day.

Descending the stone steps to the lower section Owen thought how the smells of home were always comforting. The dry hint of ancient bones, the mustiness of age, the whisper of dusty cobwebs. There was something about crypts, they just felt homey. Of course then every vampire under the moon started sleeping their days away in graveyards. It was ridiculous, now everyone and their mums knew where to go looking for vampires. But damnit, he started it, he was there first and he was not going to move just because some young bloods decided that they were going to steal his idea.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs Owen immediately realized that something was wrong. His bed (no he wasn't going to use one of those ridiculous coffins unless he was on the move) was untouched, the table in the corner was still slightly crooked, just as he left it, and his bookcase with his extensive collection of books still had a fine layer of dust on the shelves. Nothing had been touched, but still something was wrong. No, _someone_ was wrong. There was someone else in here. Owen took a wary step forward into his room. Then jerked around as the door swung shut behind him. Hell, Owen thought, hiding behind the door, simplest trick in the book. If it weren't for the damned sun, affecting me even down here I would have smelled this punk a mile away.

Owen swung around, getting a look at his intruder. A man, he looked about twenty five, short cropped hair and dark brown eyes. He had a thin face and was wearing a leather jerkin and plain trousers. What caught Owen's attention most however were the twin long knives in the man's hands. Ordinarily Owen was little bothered if anyone was armed or not, but those knives had a suspiciously bright gleam to them. Silver, Owen snarled at the man who, it seemed, knew his secret.

"Who are you, what are you doing down here?" Owen hissed at this potentially dangerous stranger. As he did so, he readied himself to either leap forward and rip the mans throat out if he showed weakness, or dodge backward if he showed any sign of attempting to stab him.

"Hello Owen Marius Shusselburg. Oh yes, I know full well who you are. I am here to put an end to your blasphemous existence once and for all, for the crimes you have committed and to keep your evil from spreading!" The intruder was shouting by the end, his righteous anger clear in his voice. With this he leapt forward to sink both knives into Owens chest.

He would have succeeded too, if not for the supernatural speed that Owen possessed. Whirling away to the side the vampire managed to draw his own sword to meet his attacker's next blows. If it had been night then the fight would have been over in moments, however in the day Owen was weakened, even down here. He was slower, less overwhelmingly strong than normal. The attacker had been wise to strike during the day, Owen thought viciously, parrying the right hand blade, and ducking the left which followed. He focused fully on the fight, letting his predators' instincts, combined with years of training, guide his actions.

Owen danced away from his attacker, remaining ever wary of those knives. The young man grimly followed, keeping up a rain of blows, using his two weapons to full advantage. Engaging one with Owen's blade then using the other to strike at him. Against another man it would have worked, against a vampire it was a little less successful. Owens blade flowed to wherever his attacker chose to strike, his speed that much faster that he was able to hold his own.

This intruder was good, very good Owen thought momentarily, but not good enough. Owen had been steadily backing away up until this point but now he pressed the attack, his sword darting ever more swiftly, seeking blood now rather than simply to be defensive. The sweat stood clear on the intruder's brow, he could only keep this up for so long but Owen was free of that problem. He would get tired, but more slowly than a mortal.

The strain was starting to show as the young man tried to finish the fight quickly, his attacks growing ever more reckless, leaving gaps on his own defence. Owen remained focused and cool, parrying his attacker's wild blows. The moment had to arrive, the attacker's strength would give out, he would miss a parry and it would be over. Finally it happened. In his desperation the young man had tried to drive both knives simultaneously into his enemy's chest. Owen slipped sideways to avoid them, sliced his own sword over the back of one of the man's hands and trapped the other in a vice like grip with his free hand. Shocked at the sudden pain the young man's knife slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. His other hand now immobilized by the vampire. The fight was over and they both knew it.

"You little fool" Owen snarled at his beaten foe "Did you really think you could defeat me in a straight fight? Now, I want to know how you new my full name," Owen's voice had become smooth with enforced calm. "and you are going to tell me." Owen had been truly shocked when this intruder had announced his last name as he hadn't used it for almost fifty years. Not since . . . well never mind that.

Owen tightened his grip on his prisoner's arm, encouraging a response and forcing him to drop his remaining knife. Keeping a careful watch on the young man Owen kicked both knives into the far corner, out of reach. He shouldn't have left the young man's bleeding hand free. Moving it slowly so as not to attract notice, his prisoner had removed a small draw-string pouch from his pocket. As Owen turned back to face him, the young man threw its contents at his face.

The effect was immediate, Owen screamed and let go of his prisoner's hand, trying to wipe the powdered silver off his face. In its dust form silver would burn the skin off of a vampire, but ultimately not kill. It still hurt like a bitch. Owen staggered backwards, temporarily blinded. The young man took his opportunity to get out of reach, back towards the door and stairs beyond. He obviously wanted to attack, but his only weapons lay beyond Owen, the knives sitting together in the far corner. Even blinded the young man new it would be foolhardy, the vampire was still armed and still capable of running him through if he tried to get past. The anger at being thwarted clear on his face, he backed away toward the door. Owen had ceased wiping away the silver and although still incapable of seeing his enemy, started advancing toward where he had last been. Owen's ears strained for a noise that would give away the young man's position. Foolishly, the young man gave it to him, calling back from the doorway

"You may have escaped justice today, but know this, I will fulfil my duty, and my father will have vengeance. I believe you know him as Henry . . ." He didn't finish his sentence as at that point he was hit in the calf by Owen's throwing knife. As the young zealot had been ranting on, Owen had released one of his knives from its sheath on his wrist and thrown it towards the source of the noise. Considering he was blind and in a lot of pain, hitting him in the leg wasn't that bad.

The young man screamed in pain and anger, but as Owen was now approaching rather rapidly he dived up the stairs, limping as fast as he could to the top. Lucky for the young man Owen was in no fit state to pursue him. Knowing that he would be unable to catch him before he made it outside Owen merely slammed the door behind him.

His face was in a state, Owen knew that, but it would heal by dusk, all he needed was rest. He staggered to his bed, all other priorities forgotten until the evening. He would have to hunt down his attacker and finish him, but overwhelming weariness put a halt to that for now. Owen collapsed on the bed, still fully clothed and sank into blessed sleep, until it was time to hunt again . . .

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more reviews means faster progress.

Also a speacial thanks to L choopa cabra, your right, victor is sick, but you gotta love him

l


	5. Chapter 5

disclaimer: warhammer and all the shizzle in it belongs to GW. Not me, damnit. . .

thanks for the nice review of Azza 3100. Ive tried to take your advice into account. and of course to L choopa cabra, my loyaylist fan. thanks man!

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Chapter 5 

Owen loved spending his days outdoors. He was a very active young man, always hunting, riding or practicing his duelling in the courtyard. It was his favourite sport duelling, he would spend several hours a day in practice bouts, most commonly against his younger brother. At eighteen the young Owen was the picture of an energetic young lord. He lived in the family manor with his father Martin Shusselburg, his mother Anne and his younger brother, Henry. Times had been good for the past few years. Incursions from the northern tribes had been minimal and the dark province Sylvania to the east had been quiet as the proverbial grave. Life at the Shusselburg manor was good.

That changed when Owen fell ill. The physicians said it was a wasting sickness of the muscles. The young man was horrified, his life, as far as sports and swordsmanship were concerned, was over. This was a crushing blow to the young lord and he became deeply depressed and moody. As the sickness progressed he became bed ridden. His mother and father were frantic, despite the commonly distant relationships within noble families; both his parents loved him deeply. Various physicians and doctors were consulted, no expense spared in acquiring possible treatments, but his condition grew steadily worse. In only a matter of months, Owen had gone from a strapping young man with a bright future to a ghoulishly thin, bedridden invalid. The situation was particularly hard on Owen's sixteen year old brother, for the pair had been inseparable since they were young. Henry had always looked up to his older brother for his boundless enthusiasm and his easy charm. To see him so weak, to have to help him eat or make the slightest movement was shattering to Owen's younger sibling.

One night, a man came to the gates of the house. At first the guards refused to let him in, it was the middle of the night after all. The man, wearing a dark full length travelling cloak, said

"I have heard news that your lords son has fallen ill, I come here offering my services, I believe your lord will be most interested to hear what I have to say." The guards had been told to allow any physicians entrance, so they escorted the man into the main hall and sent servants to awaken lord Shusselburg.

After several minutes the fully dressed Lord emerged. Martin Shusselburg was a tall man, broad shouldered and proud. Although his hair and moustache had turned to grey, it was clear he was still a powerful man. The cloaked man introduced himself as one, Stefan Von Ludendorf, a simple doctor according to him, but his noble bearing implied something else. Lord Shusselburg escorted him to a private study where he spent ten minutes alone with the 'doctor'. No one else heard what was said in that room but it must have been convincing for when they emerged Shusselburg stated that this Von Ludendorf would be Owen's sole physician from now on, and to prepare a room for him.

Von Ludendorf requested to see the young Owen immediately and was shown to his rooms. After being awakened the young lord had the situation explained to him, that Ludendorf was his new doctor. After this Ludendorf asked Lord Shusselburg to leave, asking for some time alone with Owen. For whatever reason Shusselburg complied, leaving the pair alone. Ludendorf observed the young man in front of him, after six months battling the disease he was pitifully thin, his eyes were sunken into his skull and he looked more like a skin wrapped skeleton than an man.

"How much do you want to live?" was Ludendorf's first question to Owen.

"How much do you think? Of course I want to damned well live; I want to have my life back!" Although his body was wasted away Owen's mind was still perfectly lucid, the bitterness in his voice was clear.

"What if I were to say I have a way for you to keep on living, for many years, that you could have all your strength and vitality back that you had before, that you could walk out of this bed tomorrow feeling reborn?" Ludendorf said slyly. Although young, Owen was not naïve, or stupid, far from it.

"I would say why would you help me?"

"Because I believe that some people in this world deserve a second chance." Replied Ludendorf, his body language indicating how urgently he wanted Owen to believe him. Despite his reservations Owen was being convinced, who wouldn't be, after six months of suffering someone offering a way out. Although hardly daring to believe that this doctor's offer could be sincere Owen wanted to agree. Still a little cautious he asked

"And what do you want in return; I'm sure my father can offer money, if this 'miracle cure' of yours works, is that what you want?" Although not exceptionally wealthy compared to most nobility, the family was still extremely well off compared to most everyone else.

"No, no, nothing like that, I simply want the satisfaction of having helped someone in need" Ludendorf replied, with a barely noticeable smirk at the corner of his mouth. Whatever the man wanted Owen thought, ultimately I'm willing to pay it. Anything is better than the situation I'm in at the moment.

"Alright, I agree, what do you have to do?" The man smiled, seemingly pleased with Owen's decision.

"All you must do is drink this." He said, pulling out a glass flask from his coat. Within the glass was a dark red, liquid. Seeing the flask and its contents Owen looked mildly disgusted, wondering if what was in the flask was really what he thought it was. . .

"Don't be put off by the colour, I promise, by tomorrow evening you'll be as good as new." This swayed Owen, any chance of being healthy again, any at all was worth taking. He was so sick of being ill. . .

"Alright, if you could just put it to my lips." Owen said, bracing himself for whatever flavour it would be. Ludendorf complied, tipping the end of the flask into Owen's mouth and holding it there.

Owen swallowed the first mouthful; it tasted vaguely salty in his mouth, but was otherwise not unpleasant. It was when it hit his stomach that the pain began; it felt like it was burning through his stomach. The pain was horrifyingly intense, like his insides were literally on fire. Choking, Owen tried to struggle, to push the flask away from his mouth and keep from swallowing any more. Ludendorf was holding his arms down, in his horrifyingly weakened state Owen had no chance. Despite all his efforts to stop swallowing any more of the vile stuff he had no choice. It was either swallow or drown and his body made the decision for him, slowly, agonizingly the flask emptied, until he had consumed it all and was writhing in agony at the pain in his stomach.

"Now that you've had some of my blood, I just have to take the rest of yours." Von Ludendorf said conversationally, smiling at the same time and revealing needle sharp canines. Owen looked up in terror, horrified and trying to push away from the monster before him, but his arms were too weak and the pain in his gut was too great. The monster leaned forward, planting its mouth on Owen's neck and biting down. Owen felt the pain of the two punctures then everything faded to blackness.

Stefan Von Ludendorf looked down on the dead body of Owen Marius Shusselburg, he looked so pathetic and scrawny now, but Ludendorf had seen the boy a few months ago, practicing his skills with a blade. For one so young he was most impressive, and the order of the blood dragon was always looking for promising swordsmen to join their ranks. After hearing that the boy was near death Stefan decided to act. Young Owen would most likely never forgive him for 'saving' him, but frankly Stefan didn't care. He showed the appropriate level of martial skill, he was given the blood kiss, whether or not he wanted it was entirely irrelevant.

In a few hours Owen would rise from the dead as a vampire. It might take a while for him to figure it out, but in the end he would, and he would come looking for Stefan. It might take years for them to meet again, but that hardly mattered. Stefan turned to leave, on his way out he told Lord Shusselburg that Owen was 'resting' and that he mustn't be disturbed for at least twelve hours. Using his modest skills for compulsion, Stefan convinced Lord Shusselburg that it was really in his son's best interest, that disturbing him before that time was up would be dangerous for the boy. Leaving a slightly glazy eyed Lord Shusselburg behind him, Stefan left the manor, disappearing into the darkness.

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reviews make the world go round. . .oh wait, maybe thats money. . . 


	6. Chapter 6

I apologize for the lateness of this update. I've recently been side tracked on an X men fiction. However, having seen that I had 500 hits on this story I have decided to continue. Updates may be slower as I work on both stories, but they will come eventually. : D

Anyway. . .Enjoy.

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Chapter 6

It was proclaimed as a miracle, a holy blessing of Sigmar. The mood in the manor was ecstatic. After months of sickness, the young Owen had recovered over night! Admittedly he was still very pale, but that was to be expected after such a protracted illness.

When Owen first woke he could remember very little of the previous night, it seemed like a dream rather than a memory. There had been a doctor . . . or had there, Owen could barely remember. He remembered a monster, but that must have been part of the dream. It had been a vampire hadn't it? Owen had read tales about vampires, creatures of the night that could become invisible and turn themselves into bats at will. Owen snorted; silly stories were giving him nightmares was all.

Owen suddenly realized that he badly wanted a drink. He lifted his arm to check if there was a glass on his bedside table. He lifted his arm. Owen's eyes widened in shock, he hadn't been able to move his arms for several months now. Owen quickly threw back the duvet to examine himself, his disbelief turned to wild happiness at what he saw. His muscles, they were mostly back, he was still extremely skinny by most people's standards but the improvement was massive. Owen ran his hands over his muscles, as if checking to ensure it wasn't some cruel illusion. Only one way to find out, Owen thought with an enthusiasm that had been missing for a long time. Haltingly, unused to using his muscles after so long, Owen lifted his legs off the bed and onto the ground. Now the real challenge Owen thought. Using the bed to balance, he slowly straightened his legs so that he was standing up, triumph filled him. Owen laughed aloud for the sheer pleasure of being able to stand up.

It took several minutes of pacing slowly back and forth across the room to prove to himself that he really could walk again. It was during this pacing that Owen's mother, Anne came into the room, followed by a servant with a late breakfast. Her husband had convinced Anne to delay Owen's breakfast, saying that he had been up late seeing a doctor and needed rest. So it was early afternoon by the time they arrived. On entering the room Anne's hand flew to her mouth in shock. The clatter of the breakfast tray hitting the floor moments later as the servant's fingers went nerveless with shock.

"Good morning mother." Owen said, an enormous grin on his face. It took several seconds for any sort of response from Anne

"Dear Sigmar thank you" were the first words she could think to utter.

It took several hours of tearful hugs from his mother, manly claps on the back from his father, and enthusiastic hugs from his younger brother before Owen finally had some time alone to get dressed. Owen swiftly pulled his clothes on, eager to be outside after so long indoors. Several minutes later, having found suitable clothing and noticing how loosely it hung on him, Owen examined his reflection in a tall full length mirror. What he saw puzzled him, for instead of his own reflection staring back there was only a pale blur in the glass. Momentarily Owen wondered if the mirror had become damaged somehow, but then noticed that the rest of the room was in perfect focus. Chilled at this strange phenomena Owen pulled away.

The incident with the mirror disturbed Owen a lot. However, he soon put it from his mind, after all, what's a mysterious mirror compared to being able to finally walk again! For an hour or two, Owen wandered the house, marvelling at the familiar smells and sights that he had not experienced for so long. It was while he was on the second floor, examining an old portrait of his great grandfather that Owen was found by Henry.

"There you are! Owen I've been looking all over for you – why are the curtains shut?" Henry said all in a rush as he entered the room. Owen turned around.

"What? Oh, the sun was glaring on the picture, I couldn't see it properly" Owen said, examining the painting as though trying to make up for six months of looking at the same four walls by feasting his eyes now. Henry looked puzzled for a moment by his answer, then tentatively replied

"But the sky is dark with storm clouds; it looked like it was about to rain a minute ago." Owen was obviously still not paying attention for he suddenly asked

"Do you want to go and have a practice bout; you'll have to go easy as I'm going to be pretty rusty?" Henry was still a little confused, but the offer of sword practice was too much to resist. Before Owen's illness the two brothers had spent most of there time duelling, it was what Henry had missed most.

"Of course!" He replied enthusiastically.

The pair made their way to the practice courtyard. As the pair opened the door to the yard Owen absent-mindedly sheltered his eyes; as if shielding them from the light of a bright sunny day. Henry had been right though, the sky was a dull grey from horizon to horizon. Owen didn't appear to notice his actions and Henry failed to see as he had rushed ahead.

Having equipped themselves with practice swords and protective vests from the armoury Owen and Henry made their way over to the duelling arena. A small roped off area, with a thin layer of sand sprinkled regularly on it for grip. By this stage the pair had attracted an audience. Stable boys and some of the servants with little to do crowded around to watch. The knowledge that Master Owen had recovered so unexpectedly had spread quickly and many took this opportunity to see for themselves.

The two of them squared off. Blunted swords held vertically as they had both been taught to begin a duel. The swords the pair fought with where not swords that would be used in battle, these swords were specifically used for the ritualized sport of duelling. Made as light as possible they would have extreme difficulty cutting through any real armour. For all that however, they could still be dangerous.

"Ready?" Asked Owen, a thin smile on his lips, he was always like this before a duel, cold and unemotional; focused purely on the art of defeating his opponent. Henry simply nodded, having entered a similar state of focus.

At that nod the duel began. Neither moved immediately to strike however, they began to slowly circle. Waiting for a misstep to put there opponent at a disadvantage. The misstep came from Owen, still unused to moving his legs after such a time; he slipped slightly on the damp sand. Henry immediately lunged, driving his blade towards Owen's torso. Despite his misstep Owen recovered quickly, quickly enough to parry his brothers attack. Now that they were both in range a furious round of strike and counter-strike, parry and attack began. Both young men's swords becoming silver blurs meeting with furious and repeated clangs.

To the audiences surprise it was Henry who was being forced to retreat steadily against the powerful blows of his older brother. It was well known that Owen had, before his illness, been slightly the superior of the two but even so he was showing no signs of having been dying only the day before! Henry was as surprised as the rest; he had expected a few easy victories over his brother before he got back to full strength. However his strikes were, it seemed, more powerful than before. Henry's arms began to shake and sweat was beading on his forehead as he struggled to match his brother.

Owen was barely aware that his brother was so overmatched. He was still revelling in the sensations of being in full command of his body. The ease of movement as he parried a clumsy attack from Henry and replied with his own strike felt wonderful. He wanted to test his strength fully now, and renewed his attacks, confident that Henry would be up to the challenge.

If Owen had been paying attention he would have noticed the signs. His brother's slightly winded breathing, lack of footwork other than a steady backing away and the fluctuating strength of his parry's were all signs that his opponent was at the edge of his strength. Under normal circumstances he would have noticed, and backed off a bit, to let Henry recover as his younger brother was often too stubborn to admit he needed to, but these weren't normal circumstances, and Owen wasn't paying attention.

Eventually the inevitable happened. Owen swiped his sword in a downward diagonal attack. Henry attempted to parry but his sword slipped in his grasp. Owen's blade connected with Henry's but didn't stop. Its arc continued as though the blade weren't there, straight toward the younger mans face. Henry had the presence of mind to throw himself backwards, that is probably what saved his life. Instead it sliced a shallow red line down the left hand side of his face before Owen realizing what had happened finally managed to stop the downward arc of his sword.

Owen's shock at what had happened was quickly suppressed by what he saw. His brother was hunched over slightly, his hand clasped over the slowly bleeding cut. Bleeding. Blood. BLOOD! His thirst from that morning returned tenfold. Involuntarily he took a step forward. Something in his mind screamed that something was wrong, but it was so hard to focus.

Then Henry's eyes snapped up to Owen's, filled with hurt, more emotional than physical at what his own brother had done. That was the reminder Owen needed. The world snapped back into reality and he saw himself standing menacingly over his younger brother. Sigmar! What am I doing? He thought, I actually wanted to. . .

Owen shuddered, backing away from his brother. Henry looked at him, confusion written all over his face.

"I'm so sorry" Owen blurted, still backing away. Meaning it for more than just the injury he had inflicted. With that he quickly strode away, almost running. The crowd of spectators nervously moved out of his way, they had all seen the disturbing look of hunger in the young lords' eyes only moments ago. Henry was left on the duelling court, bleeding still, and utterly confused by what had just happened.

* * *

I had intended to bring the situation with Owen's family to a climax quickly, but decided why rush? This has resulted in it bieng far longer than I intended, bear with me, this is going somewhere, honest.

Reviews encourage the author to write quicker. . .just in case you didn't know. ;)


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